The phone rang at half-past eleven at night. Emily had just begun to doze off next to her husband’s steady breathing when the abrupt sound of the phone made her jump. Her heart skipped a beat—nothing good ever happened at such an hour.
“James,” she gently nudged her husband. “James, wake up! The phone.” He shot up in bed, grabbing the receiver. Emily watched his face closely, noting how it changed, growing paler by the second.
“How… when?” he asked hoarsely. “Yes… yes… I understand. I’ll be there right away.” James slowly set the phone down, his fingers trembling.
“What’s wrong?” Emily whispered, already sensing something irreparable had happened.
“Michael and Sophie…” he swallowed hard. “Accident. Both of them. On the spot.”
A heavy silence filled the room, broken only by the ticking of the clock. Emily stared at her husband, struggling to process the news.
Just two days ago, they had all been gathered in the kitchen, enjoying tea as Sophie shared a new cake recipe, and Michael, James’ best friend from university, spun fishing stories.
“And what about Hannah?” Emily suddenly remembered. “Oh my God, what about Hannah?”
“She stayed home,” James replied hastily, pulling on his trousers. “I have to go, Em. There’s an identification to make. And everything else.”
“I’m coming with you.”
“No!” he turned sharply. “Lucy will be left alone. No need to frighten her in the middle of the night.”
Emily nodded. Her husband was right; there was no need to involve their twelve-year-old daughter in this tragedy. At least, not yet.
She didn’t sleep a wink that night. Pacing the apartment, she constantly checked the time. She peeked in on sleeping Lucy who lay with her palm under her cheek, her red hair splayed over the pillow. So innocent, so vulnerable.
James returned at dawn—drawn and red-eyed. “It’s confirmed,” he said, collapsing into an armchair. “Head-on with a lorry. They didn’t stand a chance.”
“What will happen to Hannah?” Emily quietly asked, placing a strong cup of coffee in front of him.
“I don’t know. Only her elderly grandmother is left. She can barely walk.”
They sat in silence. Emily looked out at the dreary, grey dawn. Hannah, James’ goddaughter, was Lucy’s age—a quiet, fair-haired girl who often kept to herself.
“You know,” James said slowly, “I think… maybe we should take her in?”
Emily turned sharply: “Are you serious?”
“Why not? We have room, a spare bedroom even. I’m her godfather. We can’t just send her to an orphanage!”
“James, but this… it’s a very serious commitment. We need to think this through. Talk it over with Lucy.”
“What’s there to think about?” he banged his fist on the table. “The girl’s lost her parents! My goddaughter! I couldn’t look myself in the mirror if I abandoned her.”
Emily bit her lip. Of course, her husband was right. But everything was happening so fast, too unexpectedly.
“Mum, Dad, what’s happened?” Lucy’s sleepy voice startled them both. “Why are you up so early?”
They exchanged glances. The moment of truth had come sooner than expected.
“Sweetheart,” Emily began, “sit down. We have some very bad news.”
Lucy listened silently, her eyes widening. When her father mentioned that Hannah would live with them, she suddenly sprang up:
“No!” she shouted. “I don’t want her here! Send her to her granny!”
“Lucy!” James snapped. “How could you be so heartless? The poor girl has lost her family…”
“So what?!” her eyes sparkled defiantly. “It’s not my problem! I don’t want to share my home! Or you!”
She stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door. Emily looked at her husband helplessly: “Maybe we should take our time with this?”
“No,” he said firmly. “It’s decided. Hannah will come live with us. Lucy will get used to it.”
A week later, Hannah moved in. Quiet, pale, with dull eyes, she barely spoke, only nodding in response to questions.
Emily tried to shower her with care, preparing her favorite meals and buying new butterfly-patterned bed linen.
Lucy blatantly ignored Hannah, closing herself in her room or turning away in the hallway.
“Stop behaving like this!” her father scolded. “Have some decency!”
“What am I doing?!” Lucy retorted. “I’m just ignoring her. It’s my right! It’s my house!”
Tension grew by the day. Emily rushed between the girls, trying to smooth things over, but her efforts only seemed to make matters worse.
Then one day, Emily’s favorite earrings disappeared—gold, with tiny diamonds, a gift from James for their tenth anniversary.
“She took them!” Lucy blurted when Emily noticed the loss. “I saw her go into your bedroom when you weren’t home!”
“That’s not true!” Hannah spoke for the first time. “I didn’t take anything! I’m not a thief!”
She burst into tears and ran to her room. James frowned at his daughter: “Did you do this on purpose? Trying to drive her away?”
“I’m telling the truth!” Lucy stamped her foot. “She’s pretending to be miserable, but she’s not!”
“Enough!” Emily interrupted. “Let’s not argue. The earrings will turn up. Maybe I misplaced them.”
Three days later, a ring disappeared from Emily’s jewelry box, the only memento from her mother.
“And what about this? Another accident?” Lucy sneered. “Or are we going to pretend nothing’s happening?”
She stood, hands on her hips, the spitting image of a little fury. Hannah froze in the doorway, biting her lips to hold back tears.
Emily looked between the two girls, and for the first time, something clicked.
Sitting on the edge of the bathtub, Emily twirled the bottle of antiseptic in her hands. The solution came to her randomly, right then—antiseptic. As visible as truth, as stubborn as lies.
Waiting until everyone was asleep, she retrieved the jewelry box and discreetly marked each piece.
“What am I doing?” she whispered into the dark. “How did it come to this…”
The next morning, a pendant was missing. The breakfast table was quiet. Hannah poked listlessly at her oatmeal while Lucy conspicuously stared out the window. James drank his coffee sullenly.
“Girls,” Emily tried to sound calm. “Let me see your hands.”
They looked at her in confusion.
“Why?” Lucy frowned.
“Just show me.”
Hannah was the first to extend her hands—clean, not a mark on them. Lucy hesitated.
“I’m not doing it!” she attempted to rise from the table.
“Sit down!” her father’s voice boomed. “Show your mother your hands, now!”
Lucy bit her lip and extended her hands. On her fingertips, tiny green dots gleamed.
Silence fell over the kitchen, the ticking of the wall clock and the hum of water in the pipes the only sounds. James’ breath came heavy with anger.
“You…,” he choked on his words. “You accused Hannah, and you…”
Lucy sprang up, knocking her chair over. Her eyes filled with terror and perhaps… shame?
“I hate you!” she cried, “I hate all of you!”
Before anyone could stop her, she dashed to the door, and it slammed shut.
“Lucy!” Emily moved to follow, but James held her back by the shoulders.
“Let her clear her head,” he said harshly. “Think about her actions.”
But as hours passed, Lucy didn’t return. Her phone rang unanswered. As evening fell, Emily grew increasingly anxious.
“We should call the police,” she said, her voice trembling. “It’s getting dark…”
Then Hannah, who had been silent all day, suddenly perked up, “I think I know where she might be.”
“How?” Emily asked, surprised.
“I’ve… I’ve seen her sometimes. She likes to sit in the old gazebo in the park. By the pond.”
“Why didn’t you say anything earlier?” James exclaimed.
“You never asked,” Hannah shrugged. “Let me go get her. Alone. Please.”
Emily exchanged a look with James. There was something new in Hannah’s voice—a hint of confidence? Determination?
“Go,” she nodded.
An hour passed. Then another. Dusk deepened outside when the doorbell finally rang.
On the doorstep stood both girls—disheveled and red-faced. Lucy’s eyes were swollen from crying, but the anger was gone. Hannah, for the first time, was smiling.
“Mum,” Lucy whispered. “I’m sorry. I’ll put everything back.”
“I know, sweetheart,” Emily said, pulling her daughter close. “I know.”
“It’s just, I thought…,” Lucy hiccupped. “I thought you’d love her more. Because she’s so unhappy. And I…”
“Silly,” Hannah suddenly said. “Oh Lucy, love can’t be stolen. It’s either there, or it’s not.”
Emily stared at her foster daughter in wonder. Where did a twelve-year-old get such wisdom?
“We talked,” Hannah explained, noting Emily’s look. “Talked about everything.”
“And you know what?” Lucy smiled through her tears. “She’s great. Our Hannah. Can you believe she likes Harry Potter too? And she plays chess! Mum, can she stay in my room? Please?”
Emily felt a lump rise in her throat. She hugged both girls, pulling them close. In the background, James loudly blew his nose.
Later, as the girls settled for bed, she overheard their whispers:
“Hey, can I call you sister?” Lucy’s voice reached out.
“You can,” Hannah’s voice was smiling too. “On one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“Teach me how to make those friendship bracelets? Yours are so pretty…”
Emily quietly closed the door. In the kitchen, James was waiting with two glasses.
“You know,” he said thoughtfully, pouring the ruby liquid, “Michael and Sophie are probably rejoicing right now. Up there.”
“You think?” she took a glass.
“I’m sure. Their girl is home. With family. And now she’s got a sister.”
Stars twinkled outside the window. Dogs barked in the distance. In the bedroom, the two girls, once strangers, whispered about everything and nothing, slowly becoming real sisters.
